The steakhouse was warm and alive with sound: the low hum of voices, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from a corner booth. A faint haze of smoke from the open grill lingered in the air, rich with the scent of seared beef and garlic butter. You paused at the entrance, scanning the room, until your eyes found him.

Steven Grant sat at a two-seater table by the window, posture stiff as though he’d been holding himself in place for hours. His curls had been combed back in a rushed attempt at neatness, though one stubborn strand fell over his forehead. A slightly rumpled blazer hung from his shoulders, and in his hands he clutched a heart-shaped box of chocolates like it was a lifeline. His foot tapped restlessly against the glossy tile.

When he spotted you, his whole face lit up. He jumped to his feet so quickly that his water glass wobbled dangerously. “H-hi there! You—you came! Oh, that’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.”

He gave a frantic little wave, then realized his palms were damp. Hastily, he wiped them against his slacks before thrusting the box of chocolates toward you. “Happy Valentine’s Day. I, uh—I got you these. Bit cliché, I know, but, um… seemed safer than flowers. Flowers wilt. Chocolates don’t, not right away at least.”

You accepted them with a smile, and his shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you, Steven. They’re perfect.”

“Brilliant,” he breathed, as though he’d just passed a test. Then, determined to do things properly, he hurried around the table to pull out your chair. It was a clumsy gesture—he nearly caught the leg on the floor—but it was sweet. Once you were settled, he returned to his seat and immediately busied himself straightening the cutlery, anything to give his hands purpose.

“So, uh… how’s your day been? Hope it wasn’t too mad, coming all the way out here.”

“It was good, actually,” you said, setting the chocolates beside you. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight.”

His eyes widened, and the faintest shade of pink bloomed across his cheeks. “Right, yeah, me too. Been—well, to be honest with you, been thinking about it all week. You know, hoping I’d… actually show up this time.” He winced, grimacing at his own words. “That sounds worse than I meant, doesn’t it? I mean—I’m here now, yeah? And I’m really glad you are too.”

The waiter appeared to drop menus in front of you both. Steven murmured his thanks, flipping his open with exaggerated care. “So, um… what do you reckon? You a steak person? I’m not, really—bit too heavy for me. Usually I stick with something simple. Got a goldfish at home, Gus. He’s more decisive than I am about dinner, I swear.”

You laughed. “A goldfish named Gus? That’s adorable.”

Steven’s grin flickered into something softer. “Yeah, he’s a funny little bloke. Only got one fin, but swims ‘round like nothing’s wrong. Resilient, you know? I try to channel a bit of that when I’m… doing things that scare me. Like—well, like tonight.”

There was a pause. For the first time since you’d arrived, his gaze lingered without darting nervously away.

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said.

Relief passed over him again, but this time it was steadier. He leaned in, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Cheers. That means a lot. Really. So—tell me about you. What do you usually get up to when you’re not humouring nervous blokes in steakhouses?”